


A Parisian Adventure

by gloomycrow



Category: Lupin III
Genre: F/M, Heist, Jigen/Lupin endgame, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-19 07:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18133007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloomycrow/pseuds/gloomycrow
Summary: Lupin and the gang are back in Paris after a successful sapphire heist and lying on the down-low while planning the heist of a very rare and coveted aged wine made by a secretive sect of Parisian monks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just having some fun playing around with the characters. Nothing is extravagantly plotted, so we'll see where this goes.

“So, ‘lost?’ Is that the word you’re looking for?” 

Unconcerned either way, Jigen leaned over the cast iron kettle. The water was just beginning to boil. It had taken long enough. He frowned and prodded at the smoldering coals with the rough edge of his boot.  Lupin lowered the folded road map, bending one corner in as he inked a yellow line down the highway they had presumably walked beside earlier that morning with a felt-tipped pen. He spread the map down on the ground, picking stones from the brush to use as paper weights in each corner. 

“Nooo. Being lost is all a matter of perspective,” Lupin said at last, one hand scratching at his chin as he surveyed the map. He gave Jigen a bright, impish smile. “Don’t you like camping? The stars at night, the smell of the campfire…”  

Jigen let out a stiff breath as he considered.  “No,” he decided. “I like roofs.” 

“ _ Jigen _ ,” Lupin said, playful in his scolding. “I never knew you were such a homebody.” 

Jigen lifted a hand to wave away Lupin’s attention. He figured conversation would only distract him from plotting their course and getting them back on track towards the Parisian metropolitan area. Lupin was like that. He had the tendency to meander. 

“Okay! I got it, Jigen.”  Lupin readjusted on the dirt, legs now folded beneath him. He tapped at the map several times, then traced a finger down a trail. 

“La Mailleraye-sur-Seine, I’m pretty sure that’s where we are. Somewhere near there at least,” Lupin said. “So that means we can just take Chemain de Lavieux all the way down following the river towards A13.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It  _ means _ we’re not lost anymore,” Lupin insisted. He tapped the map for emphasis.

“But we were before,” Jigen said. He cracked a small smirk as he moved the water kettle off the heating grate and poured it, steaming, into an open cup of noodles container. 

“ _ No, _ ” Lupin said, “we were  _ enjoying the scenery _ .” 

Lifting the cup of noodles after stirring it gently with a fork, Jigen offered it over to Lupin.

“Ooh.” 

Lupin took the cup in both hands, pleased by the warmth of the styrofoam on his fingers. He twisted the cup in his palms, but after reading the label, balked at the flavor. 

“No! Mushroom shrimp?” Lupin whined. “That’s terrible.”

Crestfallen, he poked at what was most likely intended to be dehydrated shrimp floating on the surface with one chopstick.  Jigen moved to examine the supply of instant noodles they had packed in one of the canvas camping bags. Salt-Free Beef, Sriracha Meatloaf, Lemon Anchovy. None of the flavors sounded especially appealing.

“I think Goemon picked these out,” Jigen said. He narrowed his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Lupin said, mouth entirely full of noodles despite his earlier grievances. He motioned forward. “Aren’t you gonna get something to eat?” 

Jigen glanced up. He had been staring somewhat thoughtlessly into the coals, into the dark reflection of the kettle.  “Uh. No,” he said. He took a moment to reorient, refocus. “Not really hungry.” 

Lupin frowned, picking a slimy reconstituted mushroom from his noodle bowl and flicking it into the dirt.  “Okay,” he said provisionally, “but we have like 80 km to walk tomorrow morning. You’ll be sorry you didn’t get something to eat.” 

“Hm.” 

Lupin set his noodle cup aside and folded his arms, slouched, to mimic Jigen’s bent posture. He set his palm across his forehead, covering his eyes to replicate the deep brim of Jigen’s hat. Jigen eyed him a moment, sharp, then softened and removed his own hat. He toyed with the lining a moment with his fingers before setting it on Lupin’s head and tugged the brim down over his eyes. 

“Hey—"

“I’m going to bed,” Jigen said.

Lupin struggled a moment with the hat over his eyes while Jigen moved to grab one of the camping blankets. Unrolling it, he tossed it over one shoulder and lied down beside the cooling fire pit. The canvas camping bag was an unceremonious pillow, but it was better than nothing. Jigen had certainly slept in less savory places. 

“You’re no fun,” Lupin said. He had adjusted the hat nicely on his head now and wore it with proud confidence. He gestured up towards the sky, just faint inky openings between the tree canopy. “I was going to show you all the constellations. Orion, Perseus…” 

“I think you’re making these up.”

“I wouldn’t!” Lupin insisted. 

Turning on his side, Jigen pinched his aching eyes, the bridge of his nose, and let out a slow breath. It would be a long walk towards Paris tomorrow. National security was on high alert with regard to Lupin’s activities after he had nabbed the world’s largest sapphire last month, so he had tried to keep things simple by making the journey into the city on foot. It was too dangerous to use public transportation, to cross border lines or fill up at a petrol station when your name was plastered on every wall, every public and digital space. 

None of this precaution and skulking around seemed to fatigue Lupin, though. He was as cheerful as always. Instead of grabbing the second rolled blanket and getting some shut-eye, Lupin had crouched beside the map again, penciling in details in the topographical key margin. The scratch of the graphite on the map paper made a soft but deliberate sound. Between the occasional pop of the cooling embers and Lupin’s thoughtful pencil marks, the forest seemed warm, cozy, almost domestic. 

Maybe camping wasn’t so bad after all, Jigen thought. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we have some provincial farm aesthetic and a dogged adversary.

There was an early spring smell in the air that morning. The colors in the sky were like the facets of a rose quartz. There was even a warmth to the grass underfoot.

Lupin held the map, a pencil tucked behind one ear and a fresh cigarette behind the other. Jigen was carrying the majority of the camping supplies on his back, but they were thankfully rather light. The kettle and saucepan clinked against one another with each step he took.

Lupin had suggested they take a parallel path beside the major road into the city, adjacent but not right on top of the highway. This left them traversing over agrarian terrain, hopping aging wire fences and avoiding pitfalls of drying cow dung disguised in the grassy fields. There was an old brick windmill on the distant hill, its large wooden blades spinning slow circles against the sky. Only a few farm buildings were even visible on the horizon, with small residential dwellings spread thinly through the fields. The path was discreet, if nothing else. Jigen was even enjoying the simplicity of the view, the green farm plots, the distant clucking of the chickens in the coops…

Jigen let out a shout.

Lupin pivoted, eyebrows raised, and lowered the map. Wearily, Jigen lifted one leather boot. The heel was covered in mashed green cow dung.

“Good thing we’re heading into town again,” Lupin said. He winced. “You can get yourself some new designer shoes.”

“I don’t _want_ designer shoes,” Jigen grunted. He hopped on one foot as he attempted to scrape the fresh excrement from the bottom of his boot onto a patch of weeds. “I want these shoes to not be covered in--in--”

“Shit,” Lupin said.

“Yeah.”

“No,” Lupin continued, voice clipped and distracted. “I mean, _shit_.”

Without further deliberation, he pulled Jigen forward by the coat collar, dragging him down beside him into the cover of the grass. Jigen stumbled, caught off-guard, and struggled to right himself again in a proper crouch after tasting a mouthful of wet grass.

“What--”

Lupin brought a hand to Jigen’s mouth to prevent him from saying any more. He nudged him with one shoulder and nodded out past the fence to the unpaved service road. A line of four police cars were driving across the gravel road, sirens off, stirring up a white dust as they went. Sure enough, in the distance it was possible to make out the bright orange trenchcoat of a familiar ICPO detective. Zenigata was standing on the cobbled porch of a farmstead across the road, speaking with an older woman in the doorway.

“He’s going door to door asking about me?” Lupin whispered. “Like I’m a box of girl scout cookies?” Jigen patted Lupin’s hand, reminding him that he couldn’t respond with a palm clamped over his mouth. Lupin grinned, sheepish, and lowered his hand.

“It’s the other way around. You don’t go door to door _looking_ for the cookies,” Jigen corrected. He sighed. “I thought you said taking the farm route would draw less attention.”

Lupin waved his hands in indignant response. He was still his animated self despite the need to be covert. “I can’t predict what Pops is gonna do,” he pleaded. “Just like I can’t predict earthquakes or wildfires or--”

This time Jigen covered Lupin’s mouth to quiet him. Zenigata and a cadre of police officers were returning to the squad car, their footfalls heavy on the dusty road. They were only about a hundred meters off now. It was sheer luck that they weren’t any closer. The grass was long, but not _that_ long, and neither of them were dressed for discretion. Lupin’s loud red jacket was hardly camouflaged in the bright green of the field.

A few feet away, a speckled brown cow let out a loud bellow and shook her head, the bell at her neck jangling from the movement. Zenigata may not have spotted them, but this cow certainly had. Tail lashing and inquisitive, she made her way closer to them, one hoof at a time. Soon she stood above them, snorting, and bent her neck to nuzzle at Jigen’s hat, working the brim beneath one lip.

“Stop--stop it,” Jigen muttered.

Pushing the animal’s wet pink nose away proved ineffective. The cow moved closer, taking a genuine bite out of the fedora’s brim and working it between her teeth, then moved on to snuffle at Jigen’s hair.

“Who knew you had such a way with animals,” Lupin teased.

He eased up into a crouch, using the flank of the cow as a kind of cover from the road. He urged Jigen up as well with a gentle tug on his arm. Jigen found he had to cover the top of his head with both hands to keep the cow from nibbling wetly on his hair. She’d already mussed it forward considerably. Using the compliant cow as a kind of shield, Lupin and Jigen walked behind the animal towards the barn. Once they reached the wooden slat wall of the barn, they dodged behind it. In the shade, Jigen finally let out a breath. As he peered around the corner of the barn, he watched as the line of police cars drove off towards the orchards.

The cow had lifted her head at their departure, big glassy eyes locked to Jigen. Lupin nudged him in the shoulder with his elbow.

“I think you have a secret admirer,” he said. Jigen frowned, embarrassed, and pulled away from the edge of the barn. Lupin laughed, his voice soft. He reached up to pinch gently at Jigen’s cheek. “She doesn’t know about your track record with women, though. What a _heartbreaker_ you are.”

Jigen grunted. “That’s one way of putting it, I guess.”

He moved towards the cow and set a palm on her forehead. As he ran his hand along her neck, through her short, coarse hair, she nudged against him and gave a soft, satisfied snort. The animal had taken a sizable nibble out of his fedora, but Jigen found that he couldn’t stay upset. He simply twisted the hat around so that the bitten edge of the brim sat in the back rather than in the front. With a small, cat-like smile, he waved good-bye to the cow before joining Lupin at the fence.

Lupin leaned on the dry, mealy wood post, arms folded. He reached for the cigarette behind his ear and tucked it in his mouth. Jigen moved to stand next to him, quiet for a moment. The wind settled over the field, pushing little white flowers and mounds of grass in alternating patterns. He reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve his silver lighter, then leaned over to Lupin, cupping the flame as he lit the cigarette for him. Lupin took a long drag, then breathed out. The smoke left his lips in faint, warm streaks, carried off quickly by the breeze. A rooster crowed somewhere far off, beyond the hitching post and dilapidated roadside produce stand, and then everything was still again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconvening with the gang in a traditional farm-and-country style inn outside Paris.

“Pass the whiskey! Jigen’s empty.”

It was kind of Lupin to be keeping tabs on his glass, but Jigen waved away the bottle when it was passed to him. He’d already had more than enough to drink that evening, his ears and neck warm from the alcohol. Jigen swirled the remaining ice in his empty glass tumbler, watching the reflections in the rounded, melting edges.

The inn common area was pleasant, he thought.

It was later in the evening, but the tables and adjoining open bar were still crowded with guests. There was an old-fashioned stone hearth in the center of the room, lit with a mild fire that wasn’t too warm but provided in terms of ambiance. Lupin had secured them a table near the back of the room next to a large window. It was too dark to see much outside at this time of night, and the decorative shade was drawn down anyway. They were still a few miles outside the Paris city limits, but the lack of light pollution and traffic noise was not a detriment at all.

It was nice to be staying in an actual inn again, even if Fujiko and Goemon had joined them. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate their company, it just made the one booked room far more cramped than it needed to be. It didn’t help that they both took extremely long showers, either. Fujiko’s showers were all about vanity and luxury soap, and whenever she left the bathroom the excessive steam smelled sweet and fruity. Goemon’s showers on the other hand were cold and meditative, the shower head serving as an urban surrogate for a waterfall to run over his head. Both equally annoying.

“Soooo, what do you think?”

Lupin beamed, hands clasped together, and fluttered his eyelashes between Fujiko and Goemon as he waited for a response. He had just finished explaining the details of his next target, but Jigen had been zoning out for most of the minutia. Something about a famous cask of wine.

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Goemon murmured.

Lupin pouted. Clearly he had been expecting excitement and praise. He was so easy to read. Jigen smiled, covert, under the brim of his hat.

Fujiko reached for date cracker and a sliver of chevre sitting on the platter at the center of the table, but Lupin gently batted her hand away.

“No!” he cried. “No more cheese until you tell me your honest opinion of my plan. Someone needs to tell me they like it.”

Fujiko retreated her hand and rubbed at her fingers in irritation. “I’m with Goemon,” she said, jilted. “You just grabbed a culturally-significant sapphire. Don’t you think you should wait for the media storm to calm down a little bit before you hit up another target?”

Finding there to be a lipstick stain on the edge of her glass of chardonnay, Fujiko lifted a thumb to rub it away. Her eyes flashed back up to Lupin. “Whatever did happen to that sapphire, by the way?” she asked.

Lupin whistled, sitting back down in his chair. He kicked his feet up on the table, heels crossed, and brought his own whisky glass to his lips. Eyebrows raised, he said: “The airport lost my bag.”

Fujiko’s reaction was instantaneous. Furious, she grabbed the knife resting on the cheese plate and stabbed it deep into the table wood. The force split the old, unpolished grain. “You idiot,” she said. “So it’s lost somewhere on a runway?”

Lupin sipped at his whiskey, unconcerned. “Probably stuck up in the luggage turnstile in Heathrow,” he said.

Fujiko massaged the soft edges around her eyes as if she were warding off an oncoming migraine. But this was classic Lupin. Far more interested in the thrill of grabbing expensive possessions than actually possessing them. She should have expected nothing less. Now attentive, Jigen grinned and pushed the bottle of whiskey nearer to Fujiko. She would need it.

“I like your plan, Lupin,” he said, even though he hadn’t absorbed much of it at all.

“Thank you,” Lupin cried. He pounded one fist on the table for emphasis. Goemon let out a soft, relenting sigh and folded his arms. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” Lupin leaned in across the table top, sparing a glance at each of his friends. “Everyone’s gonna be ready by 5 am sharp, riiiight?”

Fujiko had poured herself another glass of whiskey before she stood. She pushed in her chair with one foot. “If you set an alarm,” she murmured. “Otherwise, no.” She downed the glass in one go and set it back on the table with a clink. “Absolutely no way.”

Goemon nodded his head once, nearly imperceptible, but the frown never left his face.

Gathering her black leather jacket and purse from the back of the chair, Fujiko set a hand on Goemon’s shoulder and inclined her head back towards the elevator hall. “Even samurais need to need sleep,” she said. “Come on. Bedtime.”

Being the youngest member of the group had made Goemon the object of Fujiko’s sharp and vaguely maternal jurisdiction. Maternal was a challenging word to pair with Fujiko, to say the least. She was self-interested, self-aligned, and self-absorbed, which left little self to go around when it came to being selfless and nurturing, Jigen thought. But he had noticed her soften a little over the years when it came to managing Goemon. Because he had the tendency to go a little overboard when fasting to, as he put it, “sharpen his mental acumen,” Fujiko always made sure he had a granola bar on hand to keep his energy up.

With another loud sigh, Goemon stood to follow Fujiko down the hall towards their inn room. His posture was just as stiff and geometric as always.

Jigen had turned his head to watch them leave, and so was promptly surprised when he felt a tug at his collar. He glanced back. Lupin’s hand dropped from his shoulder and he gestured towards the outdoor patio with a nod.

“Come on,” he said. “You’re not going to sleep yet, are you?”

“No,” Jigen said, regardless of how tired he may have felt. His ears were still warm, but when he stood to meet Lupin at the patio door, he couldn’t feel any dizziness or disorientation from the whiskey. Maybe he was sober after all.

The temperature outside was relatively comfortable, as long as the wind didn’t pick up. Purple magnolia petals drifted across the manicured lawn and cobblestone walkway and made the air smell sweet. Jigen followed Lupin’s backlit shadow to the edge of the patio and set his hands in his pockets. Lupin took a deep breath, grinning, and faced out towards the dark landscaping.

“Why’re you actually after a vintage wine?” Jigen asked. “That seems a little bit beneath you.” Lupin responded with a light, playful shrug, his grin never fading.

“I dunno,” he said. “Something different.” He ran his hand across his knuckles. “Oh, and I wanted to try it. This connoisseur magazine was talking it up, saying it’s infused with lavender or something. I thought that sounded neat.”

When Lupin turned to meet Jigen’s eyes, he laughed, loud and signaturely raucous. “You’re making a face!” he exclaimed.

“I don’t know about lavender wine,” Jigen replied. He set a hand on Lupin’s shoulder and patted it gently. “But you’ve never had great taste, so I can’t say I’m surprised.”

A bright magnolia petal fell from a branch overhead and landed at their feet.


End file.
